


Neither dark nor light; rather, grey

by HeadFullOfAliens



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF John Watson, Hurt Sherlock, Jim Returns, Light Angst, M/M, Mind Palace, Moriarty has feelings, Moriarty is Alive, Neither do I, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Sherlock doesn't understand, Sherlock is sad, This Is STUPID, aaparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 08:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9226778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadFullOfAliens/pseuds/HeadFullOfAliens
Summary: John Watson hates him. Moriarty is alive and wants to be with him. Why would Sherlock think about it twice?Sheriarty/Johnlock.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's Sherlock Holmes' birthday! Oh, I will never stop loving this character. I grew up with him (and Watson, of course), and he's been a great influence for me. My role model, since I was five, which might not be the best idea. Still! I couldn't help but write something, in honour to one of my favourite fictional characters ever.
> 
> This is, essentially, a representation of my internal struggle between Sheriarty and Johnlock, haha. It's obvious who wins at the end, though.
> 
> Sherlock is dumb. Moriarty is back. John isn't so pissed with Sherlock. Everything's nice at the end. I suppose, set somewhere after TST. Probably OOC.
> 
> Also, this is probably awful.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Surprise, surprise! I’m not dead”

Sherlock stared at the dark corner, the shape standing there slowly taking form; the form of a dead man.

Dead? No, no; he was very much _alive_.

But… _How?_

He took one step towards the dark figure. “I see. How can I be sure?”

“Well, you can never be really sure about anything, can you?” the figure laughed, shrugging. “You can only trust”

A step out of the darkness, and Sherlock recognized the crazed mug looking back at him with seemingly dark eyes. If he looked close enough, he knew he would see the amber glow in them, and not just pure darkness. He became afraid for a second, were he to stand too close, he would not see that glow there.

His thoughts ran back to the rooftop of the Bart’s Hospital. The handshake, the open mouth, the gun. The blood running through the ground, to his feet.

_Of course_. There had been no violent explosion, no pieces of skull and brain flying around. Just the stream, calm as ever, dark blood startling his always-active brain into almost shock. 

Or it could be a twin. _It’s never twins_. But it could be, this time. Richard Brook.

Or maybe even a fake gun. Or drugs. Moriarty’s hand could have been the perfect way to–

“I told you I was changeable” Moriarty suddenly said, bringing him back to the current situation. “That’s my only weakness. I’m dead, and,” he shrugged, “that got boring. So I came back to life. But no, no, no” he walked, until he was less than a meter away from Sherlock. His smile covered his whole face, his sharp teeth laughing at Sherlock’s stupidity. “Don’t think about all those possibilities. They’re all _wrong_!” the sudden scream made Sherlock step back.

“You faked your death”

“Did I?” Moriarty wondered, turning around, walking around the dark warehouse. “You always want everything to be _so complicated_. Can’t you just take the easy way?” he scoffed. “That’s why you’re so funny. Everything is so complicated to you, it has to be. Otherwise…” he grimaced, “you just get _bored_. Checking my pulse would have been boring”

Sherlock nodded slowly, frowning, confused. Why was he here? “What’s the next step?” he asked, his hands behind his back, walking carefully around the spider’s web, careful not to step too close. “The last pip” he said. “You never called again”

Moriarty hummed, nodding. “Yes, yes, the pattern” he agreed, still nodding. “Well, patterns become boring”

“What?”

“I mean, why would I follow my own pattern?” he frowned, as though he was seriously confused. “That’s not so clever. That’s how all the low-class criminals get caught”

“But you’re no ordinary criminal” Sherlock snorted, looking at Moriarty’s long coat. Or was it short? “You’re only caught if you wish so”

“Exactly” Moriarty smiled. “So why am I back, then, right? If not for the last pip, for _the final problem_ ,” he mocked, “then why?”

Sherlock stood still, analysing the man’s figure. His messy hair, his crazed expression, his constantly-moving hands. It told him nothing. The perfect disguise, revealing nothing; Moriarty wasn’t playing, he wasn’t acting. _This isn’t a game._

“Have you ever thought about what I told you, back when we first met?” he asked, looking melancholic for a second, like an ex remembering their first date. “We are made for each other”

Sherlock nodded slowly. “Is this what this is about?”

“Well, of course” Moriarty laughed. “Why else would I want to get your attention? Make you dance, alienate you from all your friends for two whole years”

“Because you want nothing else in my life that’s not you”

"Not necessarily” the man shrugged. “I mean, one or two playthings are always interesting. What I’m suggesting here is…” he was suddenly close. _Too close._ Sherlock wanted to step back, to get his personal space back, but he found his back against a cold wall. “Have you ever visited Russia, Sherlock?”

“I very much prefer London”

“I did what I could with London already,” he said, thoughtful, “which is, everything _fun_. Just think about it”

“Think about what?”

“Oh, you know” Sherlock’s back pressed harder against the wall, trying to get as much space between him and the spider who just kept on getting closer and closer. “We’d never be bored again. Imagine what we could do _together_ ; all the mayhem we could cause, all the fun we would have. Two amazing minds, moving pawns around. You’d never be bored again. Don’t you crave that?”

“With you?” Sherlock sneered. “What makes you think you’re so interesting?”

“I don’t think that; I _know_ that. And you know it, too” he finally stepped away. Sherlock breathed heavily, his lungs burning. He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath. “We were made for each other, Sherlock. Aren’t you bored of the angels?” he smiled slyly. “Think about it. I won’t ask again after today”

Sherlock watched as the shadow of the man stepped back into the shadows, dissolving them, the warehouse suddenly flooding with light and dust. And John, sitting in front of him. Sherlock looked at him, considering. 

He saw John’s lips move, saw his furrowed brows. Moriarty’s face was suddenly in John’s place.

_Couldn’t I bring myself to love him?_ He asked himself. Such a stupid emotion, yet he found it easy to think about. He already admired the man’s brain, his elegant intellect, so close to his own.

He’d never be bored again. He’d never be _alone_ again. Someone who could finally keep up with him, with his always-rushing mind; someone who could love him for exactly what he was. The opportunity was right in front of him, just a step away. All he had to do was take a step forward, back at the warehouse and into the shadows, to stand besides the only man who could ever entertain him. Who could ever _love him._

It shouldn’t be too hard to bring himself to love the man romantically, if that’s what Moriarty was after. Which seemed like the case. He was short, had an attractive face, and was awfully smart; just Sherlock’s type. And he would be finally free.

He could allow himself to get lost in his own mind; in their own collective minds. Never worry about people, about friends, about worrying. Never worrying about worrying; god, that sounded too good. 

And he would be finally loved.

He looked back at John, his Mind Palace dissolving. But he already loved, didn’t he?

John was screaming at him. Sherlock didn’t bother to listen. John would never love him back. He could never love him back.

“Sherlock! I’ve been trying to talk with you for the past two hours! Can’t you just leave your phone alone for two bloody minutes?!”

John wasn’t sitting in front of Sherlock; he was at the threshold, looking upset. Why? Why was he there? What did he want? Didn’t he still blame him for Mary?

“Bloody hell, you awful…” John frowned, stopping himself. “You never came looking for me”

“Didn’t I?” he muttered.

“You never insisted! I thought…” he inhaled deeply, his hands on his hips, closing his eyes. He was probably trying to stop himself from punching Sherlock. He hated him, didn’t he?

Sherlock would be so much better with Moriarty to love him. His phone buzzed with another message.

_CP: Whatever your answer is, you know where to find me._

Of course he did. CP. Carl Powers. Connie Prince. The pool.

Sherlock stood up, decidedly ignoring John. There was no point, trying to keep this dysfunctional friendship going. John hated him, and Sherlock could never love anyone else more than he loved the pissed off man in front of him, could never do anything about it, either. He pushed him aside, walking decidedly towards the door. He followed the path he knew perfectly well, to the pool, his decision made.

If John hated him, there was no point in any of this. There was no point in living this life. Drowning in Moriarty’s madness seemed like the most interesting way to go, to finish it all.

“I’m here” he talked loudly, making his presence known in the apparently-empty place. He looked around, trying to find snipers. He only found an unarmed man at his back; no one interesting. Whoever he was, he wasn’t dangerous; he could be dismissed as soon as Moriarty showed up.

“I knew you would choose me”

“Where are you?”

“Where have I always been?” the voice laughed. Its echo resonated through the room. “Oh, maybe I was wrong” stepping outside, into view, he looked sad. Sherlock frowned, following his gaze.

The unarmed man. Not so unarmed.

“Bloody hell, Sherlock. You never tell me anything!” the armed man yelled. “Why in the hell’s name would you want to come here alone? Hm?! To be killed by this lunatic? Is that what you want?!”

“Darling, the only lunatic here is the one pointing the gun at me” Moriarty smiled. “No need for it; I’m not planning on killing Sherlock” he rolled his eyes. John didn’t lower the gun. “You should have acted sooner” he said, voice mocking, walking towards them. He stopped in front of Sherlock, still looking at John while his hands grabbed the collar of Sherlock’s coat. “I’m taking him away now, since you refuse to treat him well”

“Stay away from him!” he removed the gun’s lock.

“Not quite taking him away, though. Right, Sherlock?” he wrapped his arms around the detective’s neck, smiling almost coyly. “Tell him. Tell him you _chose_ me”

Sherlock looked into the man’s dark eyes, finding the glimpse of amber he was hoping to find. He nodded. “Goodbye, John. You can lower your gun”

Moriarty’s smile widened. Sherlock looked down at the man’s suit. He couldn’t bear looking at John anymore, the hatred in his eyes, the way his hands trembled for a second at the words.

“Whatever is happening, whatever he’s threatened you with, we can solve it, Sherlock” John said, almost pleading, his angry expression turning into one of despair. “You know we can. We always can. The two of us, against the rest of the world, remember?”

“He’s not threatening me”

“He’s… He’s not?”

“I told you, he chose me”

“Shut up, you snake!” John’s gaze was desperately looking for Sherlock’s, trying to understand. “Whatever the fuck you’re doing, Sherlock, stop it now”

“I’m going” he simply replied. “I’ll be out of your life, like you asked. If you care about that, I’ll be fine” he looked back at John, just for a second, catching the way his nose wrinkled and his eyes narrowed. 

Before anyone could process what was happening, John pulled the trigger.

“You’re bloody crazy if you think you can leave me again” he said, pulling Sherlock to him. Sherlock had to process both of John’s hands to his sides, grasping his shirt, to confirm he hadn’t just been punched; it felt like a punch, but it was a kiss. “You didn’t want to listen to my cheesy love confession two hours ago, alright, but I’m not fucking letting you go again”

“I…” Sherlock frowned. He didn’t understand what was happening.

“Now, we’re going back to Baker Street, you’re going to listen to me, and you’re going to stop with this self-pity bullshit, alright?” Sherlock nodded slowly, letting John drag him out of there. “Leaving me for Moriarty…” he muttered. “You cock” he snorted. “Now that we can finally be together, you choose to go with the lunatic, just ‘cause you probably thought it was for the best”

“John–“

“Shut up” he interrupted him. “You’re staying with me, you bloody madman”

“I thought you hated me”

“If I hated myself for loving you, that’s my business” he spat. “I don’t care anymore. I don’t; I stopped!” he stopped walking. Sherlock crashed against his side. “Look, you bloody twat; we’re going to make this work, you hear me?” Sherlock nodded slowly. “I didn’t wait this long for you to just storm away”

“I don’t understand–“

“ ‘Course you don’t. You don’t need to, right now. I’ll explain later. Just shut up, stop thinking, and kiss me”

That was something he could understand. 

Whatever this was, whatever was going to happen, Sherlock could figure it out later. 

His brain could just shut up for a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> You can yell at me on [Tumblr!](http://headfullofaliens.tumblr.com/)


End file.
